


all this hard work (no vacation)

by Boardingschooled



Series: (this is) the good life [4]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Billy Hargrove Being Gross, Gross Hot, Light BDSM, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Summer Vacation, but like the lightest of light
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boardingschooled/pseuds/Boardingschooled
Summary: “--you finish your essay before eight tonight, you can come over and I’ll blow you until you cry, like you like, and if youdon’t,well, I’m sure we’ll figuresomethingout.” Billy’s pupils are blown, his mouth sliding into that stupid fuckboysmirkthat makes Steve go hot all over.Or: finals might be brutal, but Steve's got a little extra motivation.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: (this is) the good life [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1465696
Comments: 35
Kudos: 249





	1. i. i'm stoked on ambition and verve (i'm gonna get what i deserve)

Steve is taking up space in the library, pretending to do research on broken windows theory (and why it’s kind of _bullshit_ ) when he gets the snaps-- _The_ Snaps--from Billy. He’s _really_ goddamn done with finals, and this stupid fucking paper is the last thing standing in the way of his summer vacation.

He woke up too late to take his Adderall, if he doesn’t want to fuck up his sleep schedule for the next six fucking weeks like he did last semester, and trying to make sense of the journal articles he has printed out next to his laptop is like trying to decode a secret goddamn code after a long, _long_ week of flashcards and blue books. 

He’s been sending stupid fucking _nothing_ snapchats to Billy for the last half-hour, avoiding the questions Billy sends back about how far along he is on his paper. Billy’s, like, _a real person_ ; he can just sit down and write his fucking paper like a normal human, doesn’t have to have _exactly_ the right set of circumstances to focus long enough to write a goddamn essay. _Must be nice,_ Steve thinks as he sends off a half-joking plea for _something sexy_ to motivate him.

The first of The Snaps looks almost like an accident, a blur of grey, but it has a caption: _Ok baby, turn ur sound on so u can hear me_. Steve makes sure his headphones are connected to his phone and not his laptop, then clicks into the video. (He hadn’t paid attention the first time this had happened, and the one other guy doing his laundry in the basement laundromat of his dorm at two am on a Wednesday had gotten an _earful_ of Billy jerking off, talking _dirty_ , wanting Steve to come _give him what he deserved_.)

“So _I_ just finished my essay, which means I’m _done_ with finals,” Billy says, voice rich with arousal. He’s naked in the mirror of the frat house bathroom, the shower running hot and steamy behind him, all cocky like Steve can’t _help_ but respond to. There’s something with a rumbly bassline playing in the background, and Billy’s hypnotically in sync with the beat as he flexes in the mirror like an _asshole_ , just to show off. Sometimes Billy is, like, the most stereotypical douchebag Steve knows, but somehow it always _works_ for him.

“And, like, I know that if you get an A on _your_ essay, you pull your class grade up to a B,” he stretches all luxurious, scratches his abs with a lazy hand. He’s already getting tan lines somehow, a couple shades darker everywhere his criminally short shorts don’t cover.

“So I figure, we make a little bet, something like--” Billy goes to grab a joint from some unseen ashtray, takes a deep pull from it, lets his eyes flutter closed for a brief second. Steve wants to be there _right goddamn now_. He almost gets so distracted by Billy’s whole fucking _thing_ that he doesn’t hear the terms of Billy’s bet, but he pulls it together almost immediately. 

“--you finish your essay before eight tonight, you can come over and I’ll blow you until you cry, like you like, and if you _don’t_ , well, I’m sure we’ll figure _something_ out.” Billy’s pupils are _blown_ , his mouth sliding into that stupid fuckboy _smirk_ that makes Steve go hot all over. There’s a brief stutter of lag between videos, just long enough for Steve to come to terms with the fact that he’s, like, _way_ past half-hard in the goddamn _library_ , and then--

“And, Princess?” His voice is all _butter-wouldn’t-melt_ , his eyes flashing like he’s having _fun_ teasing Steve. “If it turns out you get an A on your essay? Maybe I’ll let you fuck me.” He _winks_ , turns around and grabs a handful of his own ass like he's reminding Steve what's at stake; the screen goes briefly black and then back to their snap history, and, like, if Billy weren’t so hot it would be _laughable_ , would sound like some cheesy porno or something. It _doesn’t,_ though, and Steve has to try to remember the quadratic formula so he doesn’t catch some kind of public indecency charge. 

Steve send back a close-up of the keyboard of his laptop, writes _ur on, motherfucker_. 

* * *

Steve’s, like, _really_ goddamn motivated to finish this essay. He synthesizes all the half-ass notes he has in the margins of his textbooks and the quotes he’d pulled last week, trying to be organized or whatever. He writes some arguments that sound like they’re, like, _legitimate points_ , kind of surprises himself with how well he writes. (Billy’s voice in his head crows, _with motivation like_ that? _Of course you can._ ) He even gets some grad student who works for the on-campus tutoring department to edit his essay, fixes a couple things he’s pretty sure aren’t even that important and slaps a bullshit title on it and calls it good. 

He facetimes Billy the second he’s out of the library, as soon as Billy opens the screenshot of the confirmation email, _your essay was submitted at 7:43 pm._ He wouldn’t call normally, prefers to text or DM or whatever, but he’s impatient, for obvious reasons. 

“Hi, baby,” Billy coos from the screen, sounds more relaxed that Steve’s felt in _weeks_ and looks like the prettiest thing Steve’s ever seen, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, shirtless as _always_. “You finish your paper?” 

“What happens if I say no?” Steve asks, out of simple curiosity.

“I hang up and go jerk off by myself, send you a photo of what you missed out on when I’m done,” Billy says, like he’s been _thinking about it_ , huffs out a laugh at the horrified expression on Steve’s face. Steve’s been daydreaming about Billy’s mouth bloodhot and honey sweet on him for literal _hours_ in between waiting for webpages to load and documents to save, and it’s, like, _unfair_ to imagine Billy doing him so dirty. 

“So, should I--?” Billy asks after a few seconds of shocked silence, tips his head towards the drawer where Steve knows he keeps his couple of toys.

“No!’ Steve doesn’t mean to say it with that much _panic_ in his voice, but. “No, uh, I mean, yeah, I finished it. It’s pretty good, too, so, uh.” He wiggles his eyebrows, like, _I’m in public but you know what I mean_. Billy laughs out loud, scratching at the stubble on the curve of his jaw, and the mischief in his eyes makes Steve want to--he doesn’t even _know_.

“Oh _really?_ In that case, I’m looking forward to getting grades back for, like, the first time ever. You coming over?” Steve nods back, steps off the sidewalk to avoid getting laid out by some asshole on a bike. “Sick, I’ll load us a bowl. See you soon.” Billy hangs up, and Steve hums along to Duckwrth as he starts down the big hill on campus, _I just wanna be, I just wanna be yours_. 

Billy’s laid out over a bench in the courtyard behind the TKE house, pipe and lighter balanced on his stomach as he lazes in the last of the summer sun, one arm slung over his face to shield his eyes. Billy always seems to be caught in some patch of sunlight, is always warm and malleable like honey in a windowsill, like he’s that version of Rapunzel with the magic glowing hair or something.

“Hey, B,” Steve says, quiet so Billy doesn’t startle and drop the pipe. Billy stirs, grabs the pipe off his stomach and sits up in one fluid motion that makes Steve’s mouth water. He squints up at Steve, huge dopey grin on his face, looks like he’s on something _good_. Want sparks behind Steve’s belly button, draws him to Billy like a moth to a flame. His hands are all over Billy, soaking up the sun-warmth from his skin.

“Happy summer break, princess,” Billy smiles, holds the pipe to Steve’s mouth and lights up the bowl. Billy holds his thumb over the carb for a second longer than Steve expects, gives him a _giant_ hit. The smoke burns a little, but Steve resists the urge to cough, lets the smoke crawl out of his mouth slow and easy before he clears his throat. 

“Mm, good one,” Billy agrees. Steve holds out a hand and Billy takes it, holds onto it even after he stands up. Steve leans in, kisses him sweet and happy. Billy’s not usually stressed, even trying to juggle the demands of required frat stuff and schoolwork and the couple shifts a week he picks up at one of the bars on East, but finals kick _everybody’s_ asses. They’ve seen so fucking little of each other this week, eating dinner in the union while they quizzed each other over Crim notes and making out in Billy’s car for the spare half-hour they’d had in common between exams yesterday. 

This summer’s gonna be _stupid_ chill, hanging out at the pool where Billy’s working and hauling the kids around since none of them can drive with other people in the car yet. Steve’s working at the same ice cream parlor he’s had a summer job at for the last, like, _six_ summers, swung Robin a job there too so she has an excuse to be in Hawkins all summer with him and Barb and everybody. They’re half-assedly planning a trip to Pride Weekend in Chicago with the crew from school, but there isn’t a goddamn _thing_ keeping Steve and Billy from being in each other’s pockets for the next two months and change. 

Steve can’t fucking _wait_. 

But right now, Billy’s all up in his fucking space, smells like that douchey coconut tanning oil he uses to _stay golden_ or whatever, and Steve gets lost in the moment, forgets about anything that isn’t a point of contact between Billy’s body and his own. Billy pulls back after a second, looks all pleased with himself. 

“Roommate left this morning,” Billy offers conversationally, smile a little lopsided, and Steve pulls Billy towards the sliding door, laughs when Billy plants his feet and reels Steve in for another kiss. 

The frat’s cleaner than usual; it looks like most of the guys have already cleared out for the summer, bar a couple who’re still surrounded by books in one of the quieter common areas and a group of dudes having what looks to be a celebratory drink or seven in the kitchen. 

“Billz, wanna drink?” one of the guys yells after them. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it, thanks,” he hollers back distractedly, pulls Steve faster down the hallway. They’re almost running by the time they get up to Billy’s bedroom, stoned and giggly as Billy struggles with his key. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, I need to put your dick in my mouth,” Billy sighs, dramatic, and waves to Steve, like, _put your shit down wherever_. “I’ve been thinking about this for _days_ , baby.”

“ _Oh_ , yeah--” Steve remembers as Billy’s trying to peel his shirt off for him. “I got my test results back yesterday.” Billy stills for a second, and when Steve finally pulls his shirt over his head and off, Billy’s looking at him all _hungry_. “I’m clean, or, what did the girl say at the clinic, _there were no positive results_ , whatever. I can get ‘em, if you wanna--” He makes an aborted movement towards his backpack, but Billy stops him with a kiss so intense that Steve’s panting when Billy pulls away. 

“ _Fuck_ yeah,” Billy murmurs, hands roaming over Steve’s back as he catches his breath. “I’m gonna make you come so hard you start seeing shit.” He pushes Steve back onto the bed, shoves at Steve’s sweats until his cock springs free. 

Sex with Billy’s just, like, _intense_. It’s _amazing_ , being the sole focus of Billy’s attention, even if sometimes after they fuck around Steve kinda feels like a white-tailed deer at the end of mating season, exhausted and strung out on pheremones and _starving_. 

Billy’s _demanding_ , wants everything Steve has to give. He’d tied Steve up last week--used his TKE-embroidered tie and Steve’s headboard, edged Steve until he came _three times_ \--then fed him fruit snacks and cuddled him until he came back to himself.

Right now, Billy’s just laying on him like the world’s hottest blanket, mouthing at Steve’s collarbone and thumbing at Steve’s nipples until he squirms, makes a high whine in the back of his throat. Billy’s some kind of drug, like, Steve can’t _think_ straight with Billy draped all over him, making him sweat in all the best ways. Steve puts his hands on Billy, goes to grab at Billy’s ass and dig his fingernails in just a little like he knows Billy likes, but Billy stops, pulls away from the bruise he’s pressing into Steve’s trapezius with biting kisses.

“Mm, hands off,” Billy chides, practically _purrs_. There’s that note of nervous command in his voice, that undertone running through that says in equal parts _I’m gonna fuck up your_ life _and you’re gonna love it_ and _but only if you wanna_.

“ _Actually_ , hands on the headboard, please.” He sits up, all prim and proper, but he’s rocking a little in Steve’s lap, too worked up to get _really_ bossy. Steve’s willing to play along anyway, and so he folds his left hand onto the wooden slat of Billy’s headboard, folds his right hand over his left purposefully, tries his goddamn _best_ to be patient. 

Billy smiles down at him, looking for all intents and purposes like the big bad wolf, _ready to eat Steve up_ or whatever. He scoots back, folds himself down to get his mouth on Steve, _finally_. He drags his tongue up Steve’s dick, worries Steve’s frenulum a little before he pauses. 

“Don’t let go unless you want me to stop, yeah?” Billy asks, breath _hot_ in the air-conditioned room and eyes sharp and serious as he looks Steve dead in the eye. Steve shivers, nods, tightens his grip as Billy sinks back down, goes to fucking _town_. 

Billy’s good at this, and he _knows it_ , and the knowing-it does almost as much for Steve as how _incredible_ it feels. He’s a sucker for confidence, especially when there’s intelligence to back up the cockiness, and Billy’s, like, _stupid_ confident, and a fucking _genius_ too. A line from that Rihanna song, _suck my cockiness, lick my persuasion_ , drifts through his head, and then Billy does something so good with his tongue that Steve forgets his own _name_ for a while. He remembers Billy’s, though, and _Jesus_ and _fuck_ and _yes_ , and that’s enough, really.

It’s hard, trying to keep himself from burying his hands in Billy’s hair and pulling him off after Steve comes for the first time. Every time he feels like he _can’t,_ like he’s gonna lose it, though, Billy pulls back to catch his breath, gives Steve a second to calm the fuck down. He’s got his cheek on Steve’s hip, panting out comments about how _good_ Steve is and how Billy wants to _ruin_ him and how he deserves to be _taken care of_ so well. It makes the patience easier, even if Billy _is_ trying his best to fuck up Steve’s whole world with his mouth. 

Billy doesn’t push him too hard, though, just makes him come one more time before he pulls off. He jerks himself off luxuriously in Steve’s lap until _he_ comes, too, smiles so bright he’s like the fucking _sun_ as he slumps over and lets Steve gather him up into a wonderful, terrible, _humid_ embrace.

* * *

  
They argue later, when Steve’s helping Billy throw his shit into bags to take back to Hawkins tomorrow, about whether the tears in Steve’s eyelashes, when Billy had finally pulled away for good, cheeks a little flushed and breathing heavy, count as _blowing him until he cries_. (Billy says yes, of course, and Steve argues that it isn’t, mostly because he wants to have the excuse of playfighting to get his hands back on Billy. They have to stay up until, like, 3:30 that morning, packing up both of their rooms for the summer. It’s worth it.)


	2. ii. you're something like the summer (kinda like a hurricane)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's summertime, and the living is sleazy.

The shithead kids are _all over_ him and Billy when they get back, as if they don’t ignore him for weeks at a time when he’s away at school. Max refuses to let Billy out of her _sight_ for a solid couple days, and Dustin was in Steve’s living room when he got home from school, making small talk with his parents who are, weirdly and inconveniently, home for a week. He can’t be _too_ mad, given that he misses the kids like crazy sometimes and it really _is_ nice to see them for the first time in a few months, but, like, it’s _summer_ , he isn’t _supposed_ to have any obligations, right?

It’s just that there’s only, like, a week and a half before he and Billy both start working. Steve had had this vague idea that they’d spend the whole time in each other’s pockets, time spooling out slow while they fucked and smoked joints and got drunk on High Life tallboys laying out by Steve’s pool, working on what Billy calls his _maintenance tan_ , because he’s an _asshole_ . The kids are _great_ , and they’re all going away to _college_ and shit soon, so he’s happy to see them, of course. His parents are--fine, he guesses, but the difference between his parents _knowing_ he isn’t straight and them _seeing_ him not be straight is, like, night and fucking _day,_ and Steve just--doesn’t wanna deal with the _bullshit,_ you know?

He would just _really_ like to fuck his boyfriend without being interrupted by the chime of one of the kids blowing up their fucking phones. The fact that his mom’s a light sleeper and has this crazy fucking sixth-sense for when there’s an extra person in Steve’s bed only complicates matters. 

One of Hopper’s deputies finds them when they go out to the quarry to fuck around in Steve’s Beemer after a late movie with the kids like they’re fucking _high schoolers_ , flashes them with his Maglite and tells them to put their clothes back on and get a room. Billy keeps sending Steve thirst traps and _worse--_ or, _better_ , really--sends a dick pic while he’s sitting in the formal dining room with a bunch of his parents’ high school friends. 

So it’s Wednesday night and all the kids are celebrating the end of the school year, probably making some weirdly elaborate tiktok or drinking lukewarm wine coolers stolen from the stash of them Dustin’s mom “hides” in the boxes of Christmas decorations in their carport. Steve’s been _stoned_ since he sparked up a joint on the front porch as his parents’ Uber to the airport pulled out of the driveway. 

(Gretchen, the fifty-something housewife who lives next door and helps run her church’s thrift store when she’s not knitting accessories for homeless people or whatever, used to give him the stinkeye every time she smelled the smoke, but they’ve worked out an arrangement. He leaves a jam jar full of prerolled joints underneath her front porch swing when he comes home for breaks, and she conveniently _forgets_ to mention his drinking and smoking habits when she “drops in” to gossip with Steve’s mom during her infrequent visits to the Hawkins house.)

Billy’s been stuck at his house, fixing something for Max’s mom or something; Steve’s back on the front porch again, scrolling through Insta and very pointedly ignoring his Snapchat notifications from the fucking kids--saving them for tomorrow, when Dustin and Max tag-team him and Billy into taking all of them to the diner for (hungover) breakfast--when he hears the rumble of the Camero from a couple streets away. 

He double-checks the pipe, makes sure it’s loaded and ready for Billy. His dad’s a real fucking _dick_ , all military-style bullshit, something Steve knew all too well even before they started fucking, and Billy’s always a little _prickly_ at first, after he spends too long at his own house. The weed helps, at least a little, and Steve has _plans_ for tonight. He’s been daydreaming about Billy’s ass for _days_ , and he’s got an empty house and enough lube to turn the ground floor of his house into a slip-n-slide. 

“Jesus _fuck_ , Neil’s an asshole,” Billy yells out his window, loud enough that Steve can hear him clearly over the Camero’s engine, still making noise as it cools down. It doesn’t seem like he’s yelling _at_ Steve, mostly just yelling to yell, getting all his frustration out _before_ he actually greets Steve. It’s considerate, really, especially given that Steve didn’t exactly grow up in a household full of loud noises and sometimes too much yelling, no matter _why_ , makes him a little skittish. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Steve asks, casual, and holds out the pipe like an invitation. “You know, my parents probably won’t be home again for, like, six months, if you just wanna stay here.” He doesn’t add _for the summer_ like he knows he probably _should_ , given that they’re still young and there’s an infinite world of awesome people or whatever, but Steve kind of wants to spend _forever_ with Billy, so.

“I’ll probably take you up on that offer plenty, pretty boy,” Billy says, snapping his gum as he grins down at Steve. “Gotta play kinda nice with Neil, though, to stay in school, you know how financial aid shit goes.” Steve _doesn’t,_ actually, but he nods along and makes a sound of agreement like he does anyways, scoots over so Billy can sit next to him after he throws his overnight bag on the porch swing. 

“Mmm, _god_ it’s so good to see you,” Billy sighs, draping himself over Steve as he takes the pipe and the lighter from Steve’s hands. “ _And_ you saved me greenies?” He inhales, slow and steady, and presses wide, smiling kisses into the bare skin of Steve’s shoulder as he blows out his lungful of smoke. Steve can _feel_ Billy relaxing, muscle by muscle, and it makes something warm start up in the pit of his stomach at the idea that he’s _safe_ for Billy. It makes him think of those poems he sees on the internet sometimes, the ones that talk about how being in love means that their name is safe in your mouth or whatever. 

“I’ve been stoned all day, B,” Steve smiles, “Just thought I’d share the wealth.” He can feel Billy’s smile pressed to his shoulder, and he puts a hand high on Billy’s thigh, runs the blunt edges of his nails along the skin to feel Billy shiver. “What’d you have to fix?”

“I just had to replace the hinges on the kitchen cabinets. Wouldn’t’ve taken half as long if Neil hadn’t been standing there complaining about the way I did it the whole time, but whatever. I don’t know how much nicer the house can _get_ , I dunno what he’s gonna do when he runs out of bullshit home improvement projects for me.” Billy takes another deep pull, yawns a little. “But it’s fine. Just the same old shit.” Steve makes a hum of agreement, takes a hit of his own when Billy lifts the pipe to his mouth. 

“All the little shitheads off doing whatever?” Billy asks, fake-casual, and his free hand roams under Steve’s shirt, scratches at his shoulder blade, slides around to sit low on Steve’s stomach. 

“Yeah, and my parents left this morning,” Steve says around his exhale. “House to ourselves, if you wanna.” Billy stifles a laugh in the crook of Steve’s neck, licks at it like an _asshole_. 

“ _Oh,_ baby, you try’na collect on our bet?” Billy teases like he’s surprised, nips at Steve’s skin to make him shiver. Steve giggles a little before he can stop himself, and Billy’s fingers play at Steve’s waistband. “I didn’t forget.” Billy’s hand stills all of a sudden, and Steve whines a little, frustrated already after like, _five minutes_ in Billy’s presence. 

“I don’t know, did you get your grades back yet?” Billy’s being such a _dick_ , like, he _knows_ grades got posted two days ago. “I’ll have to see some _proof_ that you earned it.” Steve would _hate_ the way Billy talks to him about how he’s so _good_ and _he deserves nice things_ or whatever, if it didn’t fill him with radiant, overwhelming _joy_. 

“You _know_ I did, asshole,” Steve snaps, not _actually_ mad. “I sent you the fucking screenshot, should I pull up the email or something?” The first two fingers of Billy‘s hand dip inside the waistband of Steve’s shorts, still just _rubbing_ like he wants to drive Steve actually, _legally_ insane.

“Mmm, you must be right. Let’s go upstairs, then, baby. I wanna _feel it_ tomorrow.” Billy’s hand wraps around Steve’s dick, _finally_ , and then--it’s gone, along with the rest of Billy, standing at the front door looking at Steve like he’s something _perfect_.

* * *

Billy crowds into his space on the stairs, hands grabby and mouth hot as he kisses Steve dizzy. Steve finds the wherewithal to push him away, drag him into Steve’s bedroom suite by the left hand. He throws the quilt off the bed, ignores the amused noise Billy makes in the back of his throat at his own eagerness.

“Let me,” Steve says as he pushes Billy onto the bed, gentle. “I’m in charge, right?” Billy smirks up at him with one eyebrow raised like _if it helps you sleep at night,_ sure _you are_ , but he’s pliant as Steve strips him of his t-shirt and pushes him flat on his back. The gloves and the lube are already out on the nightstand, and Billy cackles when he glances over and sees them. 

“You were that confident that you were gonna get in my pants?” Billy jokes, and Steve doesn’t bother answering with words, just rolls his eyes and bites just south of Billy’s nipple, a little harder than is really _nice_. 

“Mmm, _careful_ with the merchandise there, princess.” Billy doesn’t sound like he’s in pain, though, more like he’s dazed, and when Steve looks up at him, Billy’s pupils are _massive_ , eyes glazed with weed and desire.

Steve doesn’t straddle Billy like he almost wants to; he wiggles his knee between Billy’s instead, makes himself comfortable in the space between Billy’s splayed thighs once he gets the message and moves so Steve has some room to work. 

“You wanna pillow?” Steve asks, and Billy looks down from the pillow he’s already made his head comfortable on with a look on his face like _for what?_ “For your hips, dingus,” he clarifies, and Billy shakes his head no, plants one foot on the mattress so Steve has a little bit better access. 

“I’m good, baby, ‘m not a _pillow princess_ like you,” Billy leers, clearly joking; Steve smacks the back of his hand against Billy’s inner thigh, laughs at the way Billy startles at the sound and the little bit of pain. 

“Be nice, B,” he warns, and pulls Billy’s teeny-weeny shorts off in one mostly-smooth motion. “Or I’ll volun-tell Max _and_ Dustin _and_ Mike to ride in your car the next time we take the kids out for hungover brunch.” Billy grimaces like _absolutely not,_ but he shapes up, stops running his mouth as Steve puts on a glove. 

He can’t get a good grip on the lube bottle because Billy’s a fucking _pig_ and puts his lubey hands everywhere all the time; he accidentally squirts a little puddle on his nice clean sheets, clucks his tongue at his own clumsiness as he actually gets some lube on his _fingers_ this time. 

“You nervous?” Billy challenges, eyes flashing with mirth. “I promise it ain’t prom night or anything, baby.” Steve, rather than try to find an answer that isn’t half-annoyed and half- _obsessed_ , puts his index finger to Billy’s entrance, is a little less gentle than he _could_ be as he pushes it in. Billy hums in pleasure, though, rolls his shoulders back against the sheets as he adjusts. 

“ _Gentle_ , princess,” he chides, but Steve can see that he’s feeling _good_. Steve bends down to mouth at Billy’s cock, just a little, and Billy grunts like someone’s punched him in the stomach. He’s mostly just teasing; Billy gets overwhelmed, sometimes, and he doesn’t like it the way Steve does. It’s why he likes to be in charge, usually, and Steve knows he’s _lucky_ to be touching Billy like this, to be opening him up and getting inside Billy. 

“‘S good,” Billy slurs half under his breath, and Steve feels fingers sliding into his hair. “More, Stevie, _please_.” Steve goes in with another finger, sucks on the head of Billy's dick as some kind of distraction. He lets himself just, like, _chill_ , enjoy the musk of Billy’s skin and the vaguely alcoholic tang of his cologne because of _course_ Billy’s the kind of douchebag who puts cologne on his dick when he’s gonna get lucky. 

“You’re so _slow_ ,” Billy complains as Steve’s working a third finger in. “I can take it, you don’t have to be so _nice_ about it, _shit._ ” He squirms, trying to get Steve’s fingers deeper in him, but Steve pulls back a little, takes his fingers all the way out of Billy just to hear him groan out a complaint. Now’s a good time to pull off his own shorts, he thinks, and he almost gets distracted by the intense pulse of desire he feels all at once, now that he isn’t laser-focused on Billy. Billy makes an unhappy kind of noise, squirms around in the sheets like he’ll _die_ if Steve doesn’t touch him _right goddamn now._

“Just enjoy the ride, B,” he says, weirdly breathless with desire; he’s a little less cautious as he slides his fingers back in, though, crooks them so the pads of his fingertips brush directly against Billy’s prostate like he’s been avoiding so far. 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Billy chokes out, body suddenly full of tension. “ _Warn_ a guy, shit.” He winds his hips back down onto Steve’s fingers, though, and Steve isn’t too worried about Billy not enjoying himself if the way his dick’s dripping precum is anything to go by. 

“You good, B?” he asks, playing dumb as he brushes over the little bundle again. “You want me to be _nicer?_ ” Billy tosses his head back, scoffs, but the hand he reaches down to bat at Steve’s mouth on him is kitten-weak with pleasure. 

“Put it in me, asshole,” he demands, “I’ve been ready for _forever_ , fuck me before I get bored and decide to go home.” Steve pulls off Billy’s dick, bites once more at the hickey that’s already forming, dark and intense, at the intersection of Billy’s thigh and his hips. He strips the glove off, lubes himself up. 

“You want me to use a condom?” he asks stupidly, and he wants to pull his hand off his dick but he _can’t_ , it’s like his thoughts are stuck firm in the boiling asphalt of his arousal. Billy shoots him an unimpressed look, gets his own hand on himself with a huff of annoyance. 

“I woulda said something already, sugar,” he says, and it steals the breath right out of Steve’s chest, the affection he can see shining through the faux-surly expression on Billy’s face. 

“ ‘Kay,” he agrees, stupefied, and lines himself up, hitches one of Billy’s legs up so he has a better angle. “Uh, tell me if it hurts, I guess.” Billy braces a hand on Steve’s forearm, fingernails biting into Steve’s skin just a little as he pushes in slow and steady. Billy’s _hot_ inside, of fucking course he is, and tight like a fucking _vise_. It feels like--well, if Steve were more sentimental, he’d say it feels like coming _home_ , but. That’s _a lot_ , to feel about somebody you’ve only been sleeping with for a month or so, so he pushes the idea into the back of his mind and focuses on how _good_ he feels, how being this close to Billy feels like standing on the surface of the sun, only _better._

“Wait, wait, wait,” Billy huffs out, chest heaving as he adjusts to the intrusion and fingers clutching at Steve’s skin. “ _Jesus,_ I forget how big you are. I feel like your cock’s in my _throat._ ” Steve knows he’s probably just talking shit, probably just not used to it after a dry spell or whatever, but it still sparks some stupid, caveman-like pride in his chest. 

Billy wiggles around, trying to get used to the feeling, and Steve makes an embarrassing, strangled noise in the back of his throat. It’s _intense_ , not that Steve expected anything different, and the way Billy’s smiling like the cat with the canary now, his free leg wrapping around Steve’s hips to pull him in closer, tugs sharply at a place somewhere below his belly button. 

“Jesus, you’re so _good_ ,” Steve somehow manages to say, and Billy smirks, breathing still a little stilted but confidence returning in spades. 

“Yeah?” Billy asks, as if he doesn’t know the answer, and Steve can’t help but thrust forward, relish in Billy’s groan of satisfaction. He starts off slow, these long even thrusts that feel like the most natural thing in the world; soon, though, Billy’s heel is digging into the small of his back, urging him faster. 

“C’mon,” Billy urges, “Fuck me, princess, show me how good you can make me feel.” Steve’s hurtling towards his orgasm at what feels like light speed, and he lets himself go a little bit, feels some instinctual urge in him settle as he speeds up and Billy whines like Steve’s doing something right. 

Steve braces one hand on the mattress next to Billy’s head, adjusts so he can get his other hand around Billy’s leaking cock. Billy’s eyes flutter shut, head tipping back as Steve jerks him off, and Steve scrambles to remember the putrid smell of the minifridge in the basement of Billy’s frat house, the multiples of twelve he struggled with _hard_ when he was in fourth grade, _anything_ to keep himself from tipping over the edge. 

“C’mon, baby,” he mutters, almost to himself, and Billy smiles up at him with hazy eyes, clenches around him _hard_ as he spurts come all over his own stomach with a drawn-out sigh of bliss. Steve tumbles over after him, vision going blurry with just how fucking _good_ he feels. 

It’s _hot_ , in Steve’s upstairs bedroom with the sun beating down on them from the window. Steve pulls out faster than he really _wants_ to, flops down next to Billy on his now-filthy sheets and tries to remember how to breathe again.

“ _Damn_ , princess,” Billy laughs after maybe a minute and a half of relative silence. “I’m impressed.” Steve cracks open one eye, shoots Billy an unimpressed glare, but Billy’s arm is slung over his face, so it doesn’t exactly translate. 

“What, did you think I’d suck?” he grumps out, swinging his legs off the bed so he can go get Billy a wet washcloth like a polite partner. “I _have_ had sex before, B, ‘s not like I’m some blushing virgin or something.” 

“Ehh,” Billy jokes, waggling his hand like _maybe_. “It’s different, though, with a dude. Your dick’s _huge,_ too, I wasn’t lying about that for your ego or anything, I’m gonna be walking funny for _days_.” He’s looking at Steve, bright blue eyes clear as the shallows of that beach in Bermuda where he and his parents spent Christmas a couple years ago. He catches the damp rag Steve throws him one-handed, droplets of water spattering his torso. 

“Okay, did your mom get any good snacks before she left?” Billy asks as he wipes himself down. “I have the munchies _hard_ , and Robs said something about her and Barb and us and maybe Nance and Jonny-boy crashing one of the bonfires in the woods later.” 

“Yeah, she even bought you baby Goldfish, you fucking weirdo,” Steve says, flopping face down on the bed after he throws the dirty rag onto his bathroom floor with a _thwack_. “Let’s take a nap first, though, ‘m _tired._ ”

“You did most of the work,” Billy agrees, and he throws an arm over Steve’s waist, the rest of his body far enough away from Steve that he isn’t overheating too bad. “I could go for a nap.” 

They sleep for a while, wake up to the buzz of Steve’s phone around dinnertime. Steve throws a jar of pasta sauce over the vacuum-sealed package of gnocchi he finds in the pantry for some kind of _home cooked meal_ or whatever; he and Billy eat over the sink before they meet the rest of the crew at the quarry. They accidentally-on-purpose find the party the little shitheads are at, and Barb is quick enough with her camera that she catches a video of Mike taking a swig of Fireball from the handle ( _for future blackmail purposes,_ she explains to Robin under her breath as Nancy’s building up a head of steam). 

As Nancy’s lecturing Mike (and, by extension, the rest of the kids) about underage drinking and lifelong issues with addiction and shit, Billy elbows Steve, jerks his head at the fringe of woods that’s closest to them. Robin follows them into the copse of trees, and Barb and Jonathan find the three of them before they finish the first pre-roll Steve pulls out of his back pocket. When she finally figures out where they aren, Nancy just rolls her eyes like _I thought we were supposed to be the responsible ones?_ and puts her hand out for the joint with a deep, resigned sigh. 

(Steve doesn’t think it’s the best time to mention that all of their younger siblings (and sibling-adjacent children) are tactically retreating into a similar patch of trees on the other side of the clearing, for what Steve _assumes_ is a similar purpose. He murmurs something about it to Billy, though, and Billy whistles to catch Max’s glare from the other side of the bonfire, gives her a giant, cheesy thumbs up when she blows a nonplussed smoke ring at him and shows him her middle finger.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi angels! 
> 
> So so SO sorry it took me sixty-five years to get the second half of this out--my muse flat-out deserted me after I posted the first half. The title of this chapter is from _Drew Barrymore_ by Bryce Vine! The next installment of this will (probably) be about Chicago Pride! (Or, maybe, some more of me yearning desperately for warmer weather and still thirsty over lifeguard!Billy.) 
> 
> I have (yet another) playlist that I listen to when I write this 'verse; [find it here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ikuBD1qho1CifpnH18Qbr?si=SMeqDnuVRhq_ZxRjQNP0zQ)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi angels!!! Sorry this is so short, but I'm celebrating my first completed grad school app by posting the first half of this; the second half will be up after I finish the rest of my apps. (motivation or something?? luckily y'all will only have to wait like two weeks for the rest, tops!!) 
> 
> **Notes**
> 
>   * The work title is from Rihanna's sex-playlist-classic _Sex With Me_ , which I _did_ reference in _saucing_ but it was just too good not to use. The chapter title is from _Drew Barrymore_ by Bryce Vine. 
>   * In case you aren't from the south and/or have never heard of this phenomenon, while tailed deer stags expend so much energy and time fucking and fighting that they've been known to starve to death during/right after mating season. Sometimes, old people will make references to newlyweds (or new couples of any kind) "looking like white tailed deer" to imply that they're having a ton of sex. It's, like, one of my favorite southern sayings, even if it _is_ a little shame-y.
>   * So, like, Steve _does_ get an A on his essay, right? 
> 



End file.
